


I'm Brave Enough to Fight the Enemy

by AdvancedApologies



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, F/M, M/M, battles, bilbo and thorin are in love but stupid about it, bilbo is so done save him, canon is ignored basically, hobbits are chill parents, more tags once the story really gets going, oh shit the one ring, this is gonna be long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdvancedApologies/pseuds/AdvancedApologies
Summary: The Battle of the Five Armies ends less tragically, and Middle Earth barely survives the combined efforts of so many meddling mortals surrounding the issue of The One Ring.AKA the one where small hobbits decide the Shire is overrated and end up in Erebor, where they learn un-hobbitish things and decide that Sauron is stupid and easy to fool. This does not go well, and Bilbo is going to punch whoever let them meet Fili and Kili.TLDR; Bilbo suffers, hobbits are not good at planning, the Valar laugh, and the Fellowship sets out to destroy evil... or something like that.





	1. A Short Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is only a short prologue to see if anyone is interested in the concept. The concept is probably going to remain a bit murky until the next chapter though.

Through the course of Thorin’s Gold Sickness, Bilbo has somehow forgotten the kind heart the dwarf hid from the world. Bilbo hadn’t meant to, of course, but even a Hobbit as proper as he (regardless of what the Shire might think) had limits.

Being dangled over Thranduil’s army and banished, by happenstance, reached beyond those limits. And all of his friends going along with Thorin’s proclamation? That ached somewhere so deep that only the deaths of his parents had been felt there before.

He had never wished harm upon his idiotic dwarrows, however, and the weeks following The Battle were excruciating. Not one being in that bloodbath had escaped unscathed, and the Company was no different.

Bifur, despite losing the axe that had haunted him for longer than Bilbo had been alive, was under constant surveillance. Head wounds were not to be trifled with, and the dwarrow hadn’t even made any progress communication-wise. Bofur had a nasty cut down his arm, and an internally-bruised torso. Neither Bombur, Nori, or Dwalin could walk due to leg injuries. Dori’s fingers had been shattered in his right hand, Ori had nearly lost an eye, and Balin’s upper arm had been stabbed clear through. Glóin and Óin were the least injured, with the former boasting (in tasteless dwarrow fashion) of several new non-lethal scars, and the latter limping around on a broken ankle. Bilbo himself had been bedridden due to an infected cut and a concussion.

Fíli, Kíli, and stupid, brave, _insufferable_ Thorin were the worst off. They had yet to wake without fever.

Thorin’s last cognizant words had been to his burglar, and had contained a such a mix of raw guilt and remorse that Bilbo just couldn’t grasp tightly to the lifeline of anger that had sustained him through The Battle.

Bilbo didn’t want to return to the Shire. He wanted to stay in Erebor, with his thrice-damned new family with no sense of self-preservation.

He understood better than his past self, however, that spontaneity had unexpected consequences. Unable to stand the sight of three of his family members in such peril, Bilbo said his goodbyes and wrote letters to the three slumbering royals.

With only Glóin as company, Bilbo Baggins left The Lonely Mountain to set his affairs in order, and to give himself time to truly forgive Thorin Oakenshield.

* * *

 

_Thorin “Too Majestic for Armor” Oakenshield,_

 

_I am absolutely livid. I can forgive many things (and have, if you care to take a few, long moments to recollect our wonderful journey) but willing stupidity is not one of them. Before you go off in a Royal Sulk, I plan to return as soon as I am able, to set up permanent residency in your lovely, dilapidated mountain. Glóin is accompanying me, so I am not without protection. Do not worry for me._

 

_As you should have been able to guess from my intent to return, I forgive you for nothing only because you have nothing to apologize for. I’ve had many discussions with Balin, Gandalf, Bard, and, surprisingly, Thranduil. The Gold Sickness was beyond your control, something without cure in your blood compounded and exploited by Smaug’s potent jealousy. You are blameless for your actions, and as the sole individual personally held over a rampart I release you from any guilt or compelled retribution._

 

_I have, however, heard that you broke yourself out of the Gold Sickness (marvelous job; I knew your heart still beat somewhere in that golden treasure chest you call a chest) and proceeded to run out into battle. That is your choice, and though my Hobbit sensibilities want to beat you over the head with a ladle like a misbehaving fauntling, I can recognize that dwarrows are violent barbarians incapable of keeping their large noses out of a bloody massacre._

 

_Just explain to me, King Under the Mountain, why you felt the need to divest yourself of the protective armor designed for the sole purpose of protecting your, believe it or not, vulnerable insides? You’re incredibly lucky that Beorn showed up when he did, or you would not have survived to be crowned in front of your irritatingly loud cousin._

 

_Make no mistake, Thorin, I am grateful that you are alive and in recovery. I am touched that you apologized to me on what could have been your deathbed. I still consider you a close friend._

 

_By the time I return, I will have hopefully sorted through my feelings towards you enough that I’ll hug rather than slap you. Please note that you have been warned, Thorin Oakenshield, of the possible assault. Make sure whatever entourage that brings me into your magnificent, royal presence is aware. I don’t fancy being arrested or re-banished immediately after my return._

 

_If you die and do not read this letter, as Óin has cautioned, I will find a way into the dwarrow afterlife and beat you senseless myself, Mahal be damned._

 

_Don’t underestimate a Hobbit’s grudge._

 

_Best wishes, and forever your friend,_

         _ **Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, of Bag End**_

 

_(P.S. Calm down, you oaf. I am more worried than angry. Your kingdom will thrive, and I can't wait to see it.)_

 


	2. Introduction, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still figuring out formatting... Sorry

_My dear Fíli,_

 

_You precious, courageous child. Hush, now. You may be an adult, but you are young still._

 

_I am indescribably proud of you. You lead the Company in your confounded uncle’s stead, and I could see the king you will one day be. If I know Thorin at all, it isn’t hard to guess that he’ll speak little of his pride in your behavior. You handled yourself and the situation to the best of your ability. Nothing you could have done would’ve changed the outcome. Neither your brother’s injuries nor your uncle’s are due to any failing of your own._

 

_Yours, however, are your fault._

 

_I have a few inquiries if you wouldn’t mind._

  1. _Why did you remove your armor? Did you want to get yourself killed?_
  2. _Ravenhill was a trap, I can understand you being tricked by that. You and Kíli checking out an abandoned tower that’s not supposed to be abandoned? Harder, but you’re both rather foolish. The two of you splitting up? What. Were. You. Thinking._
  3. _Jumping to escape Azog was smart, except that you forgot to factor in the general fragility and breakability of bones. And skulls. Honestly. WHAT. WERE. YOU. THINKING._
  4. _WHAT! WERE! YOU! THINKING!_



_Take an hour to reflect on your lack of common sense before reading the rest of this letter, if you wouldn’t mind._

 

_Now, I forgive you. I forgive Thorin. I will return as soon as I return, and not a moment sooner; I may not be a wizard, but I am equally incapable of appearing somewhere across Middle Earth with only a thought. Do not allow Thorin to delegate all of his work while he sulks. If he does, delegate it to Balin. It’ll make its way back to Thorin, and I can assure you that Balin is no more pleased with your uncle than I am._

 

_With affection, and exasperation,_

_**Bilbo Baggins, of much closer geographical location to your mother**_

* * *

The time spent travelling to the Shire was without much incident, to Bilbo’s relief. He and Glóin had not been especially close during the journey to Erebor, and they took advantage of their trip to become closer friends. As soon as they reached the borders of Bilbo’s home, he demanded that the dwarrow go up to the Blue Mountains to see his family.

“But Bilbo-”

“No buts, if you please. Hobbit business is redundantly repetitive, and as such you have several months in which to make your merry way back to my lovely smial with as much company as you please.”

“Company?”

“I would not tear you from your family, my friend. Erebor may not be ready for colonization, but there ought to be enough supplies for a few extra stomachs.”

Glóin had smiled broadly before lifting the Hobbit into a tight hug. With more joy than Bilbo had ever seen, Glóin promised to return with his wife and son long before the departure to Erebor.

Now, Bilbo was regretting this decision.

“Mi-Mister Bilbo?! But you’re dead!”

Bilbo sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Truly, he should revise his opinion on the most foolish race.

“Hullo, Mister Chubb. I am very much alive, thank you.”

As far as he could see, abashed (and not so abashed) Hobbits tried to make off with the innards of Bag End.

 _Gandalf_ , he resolved, _was going to receive a rather hardy kick to the shins_.

* * *

Frodo had heard from Sam that Uncle Bilbo had returned.

“The commotion!” Sam had exclaimed, admiration lighting up his eyes. “He gave everyone a stern talkin’ to, Mister Frodo.”

Bilbo had been one of Frodo’s favorite relatives; he was always willing to give out freshly baked goods and scandalous adventure stories. He’d guarded the letter left for him jealously, as no one else had received anything of the kind.

 

_Frodo, my boy, I will not return for a long time. I will make up for any missed celebrations with a wondrous tale. **Love, Uncle Bilbo**_

 

Frodo had ached when Bilbo didn’t appear to snatch him away from the crowded and well-meaning Brandybuck Hall that day. He had cried quietly to himself through the night.

Bilbo, it had seemed, had forgotten all about his “beloved” nephew.

Sam, dear Sam, had refused to believe it. He had marched right over to Bag End and shouted himself hoarse at a supposedly stunned Bilbo.

Which was how Frodo found himself cradled in his uncle’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, as Uncle Bilbo apologized and murmured soothing words into his ear.

* * *

Samwise Gamgee was not one to forget a slight against Frodo quickly. He did not trust Mister Bilbo Baggins not to repeat his ignorant negligence.

“Don’t you dare.” his mother warned, narrowed eyes raking over her son and his carefully packed bag.

“Mister Baggins-”

“ _Mister Baggins_ ,” she interrupted, voice cool, “hadn’t been informed of Frodo’s predicament! You can hardly blame him, my boy, for not rushin’ to save his cousin from a peril he knew nothin’ of!”

Sam lost the glaring contest with his mother. He wasn’t surprised, as Bell Gamgee was an expert at wrangling fauntlings.

Twenty minutes later, as per their plan, Merry and his little cousin Pippin knocked on the Gamgee smial’s faded, red door. Cheeks flushed with excitement, Sam rushed out of his room (with his bag) and darted past his mother to join the fauntlings in their begging.

“Please Missus!” little Pippin, only ten years old, pouted.

“He’s been worried sick these days, honest Miss Bell, he’s even had night terrors!” Merry added, a little too eagerly in Sam’s opinion. But he was older, and therefore wiser, and so Sam didn’t interrupt.

“Ma,” he said sweetly, dragging out the word in accordance to Merry’s instruction. “Mister Baggins is only just next door. Only for a couple ’a days!”

Bell was no stranger to fauntlings’ tricks, having six of her own, but she knew when wisdom was bested by youthful stubbornness.

“Let me write Mister Baggins a note.” she sighed, and disappeared from the doorway.

Merry picked Pippin up and twirled him around, the both of them giggling like loons. Sam watched them with a grin.

Mister Bilbo Baggins was going to rue the day he made Mister Frodo cry.

* * *

 

Glóin returned three months later, his son Gimli trailing behind. His wife had chosen to remain in the Blue Mountains to help the rest of the dwarrows prepare for the future move into Erebor.

Gimli was a bright lad, cheerful in a very un-Glóin-like manner.

Frodo adored Glóin, demanding the stories behind every visible scar and tattoo. Glóin, the family oriented dwarrow he was, obliged enthusiastically. Frodo very quickly became enamored with battle axes. Bilbo was appalled.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin thought very highly of Gimli. Though skeptical at first, the young dwarrow had proved his character in two separate instances. One involved shouting, paint, and poor Mary Bracegirdle, guilty of nothing more than accidentally-on-purpose knocking Frodo into a puddle.

The other, calmer instance revolved around a sick Pippin, Gimli’s hair, and flower crowns. Bilbo made a mental note to weave flowers into the hair of any dwarrow he could convince. It was hilariously adorable to see such battle-ready warriors donned in frail plants.

Bag End, of course, was much busier with two dwarrows, four fauntlings, and one gentlehobbit taking up permanent residence.

In hindsight, Bilbo really should have foreseen the imminent danger of trying to separate Frodo from his closest friends by an immeasurable distance.

* * *

 

“I’ll tell Ma we leave in a week!” Merry chirped, oblivious to Bilbo’s horror struck face.

“Can you tell Pippin’s too?” Frodo asked, politely as ever. “I promised to show him another one of Uncle’s books.”

Esmeralda, Merry’s mother, was a Took, and would find the misunderstanding humorous. Eglantine, though married to a Took, was a Banks, and would likely march up to Bag End and whisk poor Pippin away.

Merry, in the mysterious way only children seemed capable of, sprinted away before Bilbo could gather enough wits to stop him.

“Oh dear.” he said, but was paid little mind by the remaining fauntlings. Sam, perhaps, would have asked what was the matter, but he was in the other room with Gimli.

Glóin patted his shoulder. “I’ll take Frodo to the market before their Amads arrive.”

Unimpressed, Bilbo glared at him. “Don’t you _dare_ abandon me, Glóin,” he warned, “I will cook nothing but mushrooms for the entire way back to Erebor.

“It would almost be worth it.”

“I’ll stop and visit with both Lord Elrond and King Thranduil.”

Glóin only looked at him with pity.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fauntling ages, in case you were wondering. 
> 
> Frodo: 17, or roughly 11 in our years  
> Merry: 16, or 10  
> Sam: 14, or 8.5  
> Pippin: 10, or 6.5
> 
> These ARE NOT their canon ages. Frodo is supposed to be a) not born yet, and b) 22 years older than Pippin. Yeah. I'm messing stuff up. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Next chapter: Questionable parenting, elves, and a majestic silhouette.


	3. Introduction Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one jumps around a lot, time-wise. Also, it was hijacked from my original plan. I think, though, that it's my favorite so far. If you're confused, check the end notes.

Hobbits were strange creatures. Gandalf had always known so, and loved them dearly for it.

By all means, they should be fussy and stuffy and bossy, not to mention completely uninformed of the world. It was certainly true in most cases, but find one willing to leave the safety of the Shire?

Bilbo Baggins was not the first, nor the last, Hobbit to transform into something unexpected on the road.

Perhaps, Gandalf mused, it was due to the inexplicable goodness that lived in their hearts.

For all their ignorance, they had never learned to be wary of strangers in the same way as other species-- strangers, to Hobbits, were a danger due to their ability to disturb the peace, not because they could have ill intentions.

Hobbits were innocent and naive, but possessed extraordinary depths if given the chance. Certainly, they were the only beings to have surprised such an old Wizard on so many occasions.

Which is why Gandalf only smiled fondly when Bilbo Baggins entered Rivendell with no less than four fauntlings.

* * *

 

  _Dearest Kíli,_

 

_Of all the company, I am the least cantankerous towards you. You saved your uncle and brother with your quick thinking. Miss Tauriel was an invaluable resource, and a witty conversationalist, that I had a wonderful time getting to know whilst she saved the lives belonging to three Durins._

 

_As far as your uncle is concerned, Beorn carried the three of you to the healing tents. If you do not wish him to know of your friendship, I will not break that confidence. I will say, however, that you should not be ashamed. She is a lovely girl, and race is a horrible way to trust character._

 

_If your brother gets onto you about risking your life to defend his, don’t hesitate to throw something at him. You were courageous, and proved yourself in battle. I will never pretend to understand you dwarrows, but it is my understanding that you get to carve a new bead to signify your first major battle. May I recommend a Warg somewhere on it? I’ve overheard some people wondering how such an adorable puppy of a dwarrow managed himself so well, and while you may pout like one you are certainly more capable than a pup._

 

_Talk to your family, Kíli. You were not the only one afraid. I have no qualms about admitting I was the most terrified I have ever been in my life when I came across you boys so hurt._

 

_With fondness, and pride,_

**_Mister Boggins_ **

 

_(P.S. “I could have anything down my trousers”? You can do better, my boy.)_

 

Kíli finished the letter with a mixture of emotions, namely embarrassment. Even so, his eyes were suspiciously wet, and his lips upturned in a smile. Who would have thought, all those months ago, that Bilbo Baggins would be capable of eliciting so much warmheartedness?

Kíli was glad he liked Tauriel. After being braced for disapproval and disgust for his interest, the mutual admiration felt… amazing.

“Brother, have you- oh, yes, definitely. Pretty sure I had the same gooey face when I read mine.” Fíli, having woken up for good weeks previously, was the expert in Bilbo’s letters.

“I can’t help it!” Kíli whined, waving the parchment wildly in the air. “I have never been more glad to deny you access to my mail, before.”

Kíli, though less severely injured, had taken a rather nasty blow to the head. Conscious as he may have been before Fíli, he’d been unable to tolerate much light or strenuous activity involving his eyes.

“The only reason I listened, was because I’d already read mine. I hope you know that.”

“Hmph.” Kíli pouted, crossing his arms.

“Don’t be like that, I snoop out of love.”

“No, you snoop because Amad has brainwashed you into thinking that it’s an affectionate gesture.”

The brothers glared falsely at each other for a few seconds, before the moment was ruined by Fíli’s giggling.

Kíli looked at him oddly. Their cots were mere feet apart, in a way reminiscent of childhood.

“Share?” his brother asked, regarding him with a wobbly smile.

_’Talk to your family.’_

Throat tight, Kíli quickly clambered into Fíli’s bed and snuggled into him. “Let me know if I hurt you.” he mumbled into Fíli’s chest, still mindful of the awful state his legs were in from jumping.

* * *

 

Fíli had been terrified in Lake Town that he was going to lose his brother. That he’d have to tell Amad that Kíli had perished so close to the mountain because of a poisoned arrow. Bilbo had tried to sooth him, at the time, but it did nothing to ease his worries.

As Kíli, dear, little, Kíli, fell asleep with his big brother’s arms wrapped around him, Fíli couldn’t keep from crying. After he’d jumped, he’d been able to imagine nothing other than his little brother having to break the news to Amad instead.

The end of Bilbo’s letter, if read by anyone else, would have seemed like gentle teasing. Fíli knew better.

 

_“I-I can’t tell her. Amad. Loosing him would be- but telling Amad?”_

_“You wouldn’t have to.”_

_“No! I c-can’t make Un-Uncle-”_

_“The Shire is not so far from the Blue Mountains. I could tell her.”_

_“…Y-you?”_

_“It was my plan that got him hurt, Fíli. I would face your mother and take all the blame. You’re carrying enough on your shoulders as is.”_

 

**_’Bilbo Baggins, of much closer geographical location to your mother.’_ **

 

Their Hobbit, unless Fíli was a Troll, had taken it upon himself to write Dís to assure her that her sons lived.

Suddenly, the dwarrow smiled and buried his nose into Kíli’s hair. They had lived. Fíli hadn’t abandoned or been abandoned. Even Uncle was beginning to rouse from his fitful sleep brought on by the endless droughts Óin forced down him.

They had all made it.

Smaug, dead. Orcs, defeated. Erebor, reclaimed.

They were all alive. And Bilbo was going to return.

Fíli’s dreams, for the first time in a long while, were pleasant and unmarred by the snarling face of Azog’s forces.

* * *

_Princess Dís,_

 

_My name is Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, master of Bag End in the Shire. I was the burglar hired by your brother, Thorin, to aide in his quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain from Smaug._

 

_Glóin, one of the members of the aforementioned Company, has agreed to see this letter delivered to you. I must apologize for my forwardness in contacting you, but I believe that those in Erebor might be hasty in sending news about the mountain rather than its occupants._

 

_Your sons, both fine lads, are injured but alive and well. Your brother is also injured, if not more seriously, but will most likely make a complete recovery. The rest of the company has naught but small wounds._

 

_Your family, and your future home, are all safe and shall remain so for the foreseeable future. If my behavior has breached Dwarrow customs or propriety, I will apologize to you in person, Your Highness, for I will return to Erebor to live there permanently as soon as possible._

 

_Kindest regards,_

**_Bilbo Baggins_ **

* * *

 

“I’m confused.” Bilbo admitted, sipping some nice chamomile tea. Bell Gamgee made the best tea in the Shire, as far as he was concerned. Dori would be impressed if he ever tried it. “They just… _gave_ me their children.”

Bell nodded, patting his hand comfortingly. Bilbo had wandered into her house in a daze half an hour before, and his state of mind had yet to improve.

“Well, I don’t believe they right understand what goes into a adventure.”

“I told them!” he protested, eyes wide. “The uncensored version. The giant spiders. The goblins. The _town_ on a _lake_ , which should have been bad enough, that _burned_ to the ground. Because of a _dragon_!”

“Well, Mister Bilbo, you came out of it alright.”

“I have scars. I’ve lost weight. I know how to kill things before they eat me. I was used as a Troll’s handkerchief!”

“Masters Glóin and Gimli will take care of everyone, dear.”

“Bell, I went on that journey with thirteen dwarrows and a wizard.”

“I know that.”

Bilbo let out a frustrated sound, and though about drowning himself in tea. The whole Shire was mad. What had ever happened to the good ol’ idea that death await mere feet from the Shire’s borders?

“Bell?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Would you want your fauntlings in such peril?”

“Want is a strong word, Mister Bilbo, but I trust you. I wouldn’t let Sammy go otherwise.”

Bilbo nearly choked. “S-Sam…is coming?” he asked faintly. He received a stern look for his trouble.

“Of course! Sammy would be miserable without sweet Frodo. Now, hear me, if Sammy wants to return I expect him to. A nice guard of dwarves would do.”

“Do you… excuse me, Bell, but do you know where Erebor is located?”

“Oh, over past the Blue Mountains. I know that much.”

Bilbo couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to laugh, or cry. Four fauntlings on their way to Erebor, and not a one of them sneaking away from their parents. Oh, no wonder Thorin had thought he was a grocer! Was he ever so naive?

 

_’Stop! We must turn back- I have forgotten my handkerchief!’_

 

_Hobbits_ , Bilbo decided, _should never leave the Shire. We’re all looney, the lot of us_. After all, he was convinced to go on a quest to kill a dragon by a pretty song and stubbornness.

He could almost imagine Thorin laughing at his predicament.

Thorin. Bilbo hadn’t thought of him in a while. Thorin was still alive, he had to be. Somehow, the world would look different if Thorin Oakenshield passed on.

Maybe, just maybe, the lout would receive a hug instead of a slap, after all.

* * *

 

“We all received our letters verbally,” Balin said conversationally. “Bilbo yelled a lot. Many of the Company shed a tear or two, aye, but this is by far the strangest reaction I’ve seen yet.”

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, paid him no heed. He was too busy howling with mirth at their Hobbit’s sharp rebukes and characteristic thoughtfulness.

He had messed everything up brilliantly, and nearly lost it all. He’d hurt the people dearest to him and caused a war over paltry coins.

And Bilbo Baggins had the audacity to ‘ _release_ ’ him from all guilt. It shouldn’t have meant anything, and yet, it meant _everything_.

Thorin had never felt so free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf at the beginning was in the future. Everything to do with the dwarrows was in the past, and it all took place before Bilbo even reached the Shire. Bilbo and Bell were in the present.


	4. Introduction, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is healing, Gloin is such a dad, and Elrond wants a new bestie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have graduated, gotten a new computer, and no longer hate everything... So yay, I'm alive!! I apologize for the wait. Your support is the reason I'm posting this chapter, and working on the next one, instead of going down my normal route of abandonment. I can't get back into the headspace I was in when I wrote the majority of this chapter, so sorry if it's awkward sounding... hopefully I'll be able to have more funnies and less angst moving forward.

The departure from the Shire was mostly a cheerful event. Though a good portion of Hobbits were scandalized by Bilbo’s previous adventure, this outing was met with only mild disapproval. Most, it seemed, viewed the trip to Erebor as an extended walking holiday. Sam, Merry, and Pippin were overjoyed to be accompanying Frodo to his new home, and not many with faunts of their own were able to condemn the four young ones’ happiness.

Bilbo had met once again with the parents of his new travelling companions. He’d pressed the importance of the situation onto them, and showed several of his own scars as proof. He couldn’t bare the thought of taking the children while their parents were ignorant of the danger, and most likely expecting them to return to the Shire in no more than a decade. Despite the horror stories, more true than Bilbo himself wished, the parents laughed and sent their children away.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin moved out of Bag End for the remainder of their childhood in the Shire. When they loaded their belongings onto the wagon Gimli had purchased in Bree, no one mentioned the high concentration of keepsakes, pictures, and heirlooms. Bilbo promised to teach them their heritage, and the dwarrows had given their word to protect them. Glóin clasped Bilbo’s shoulder and gave him a meaningful look.

_They will be safe,_ his eyes swore. Bilbo tried to believe him, and was mostly successful.

The wagon left the Shire with much fanfare. Hobbits waved from their gardens, faunts and tweens ran alongside them for a ways, and the whole ordeal was very exciting to Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.

They stayed a night in Bree to gather last minute supplies, and then the small company left.

Of the five Hobbits who left the Shire, only one of them would ever return.

* * *

 

The first night spent in the wilderness was amazing.

None of the children had ever left the safety of their homes, and the entire experience was new. They laughed and chattered and giggled and skipped and behaved with carefreeness that made Bilbo _ache_.

The campfire made their faces glow, highlighting their wonder. Sam had enthused over the stew Bilbo made, Merry the novelty of sleeping out in the open, Pippin over being able to scream as loud as he wanted without being chided.

The most adorable thing, however, was Frodo.

Not since before Primula and Drogo’s deaths had he seen such a wide smile on his nephew’s face. Frodo regaled the company with a slightly-off version of Thorin’s company’s encounter with the Trolls. His Uncle Bilbo featured heavily, and subject of his childish praise smirked at a coughing Glóin.

Heroes got to tell whatever story they wished; the truth was immaterial.

It was peaceful, enjoyable, and Bilbo shared this sentiment with his adult companion.

For some reason, this made the dwarrow smirk and throw a pine cone at his son. Which then, of course, sparked a pine-cone-throwing competition. 

Of course. 

* * *

 

Bilbo regretted every decision that ever lead him to wandering the wilderness with four children and two dwarrows who acted like children.

“Can we find a lake and fish in it?”

“Oh, what about swimming in it?”

“Dunderhead! We can’t swim!”

“Dunderhead!”

“Is Pippin supposed to say that?” Gimli asked innocently.

Glóin responded cheerfully,“It won’t make a lick of a difference in Erebor.” He laughed heartily at Bilbo’s sour look.

_If we see a lake, I’m jumping right into it_ , Bilbo swore, clutching Bill’s reins tightly.

It was only eight in the morning.

* * *

 

The frustrating nights were frequent, but they were not the only kind. Many times, the small group would entertain itself with food, music, dancing, stories, and any combination thereof. The faunts got into plenty of trouble, enough to make Bilbo go prematurely grey, but it was lighthearted with no ill intent.

Honestly? It made Bilbo feel younger than he had in decades.

“See, lad?” Glóin rumbled, an odd smile twisting his lips.

“See what?” Bilbo asked impatiently, focusing on repairing Sam’s spare cloak.

“There’s good in the world. World isn’t just Orc scum an’ the rest o’ us.”

Hands ceasing their movements, he made a thoughtful noise, eyes unfocused.

“Not all evil is related to Orcs.”

“Aye. There’re Elves, too.”

The joke fell flat, and Bilbo studied his hands silently. There were new marks there. New scars.

_“Burglar! What’ve you done to yer hand?”_

_“Ah, don’t worry about it. I think I grabbed Sting a little oddly when I was trying to-”_

_“No! If yeh have a blade, yer gonna know how to use it!”_

_“Dwalin, that’s not-”_

_“Like this, Hobbit. Copy my movements.”_

“My error was mistaking ‘good’ and ‘kind’, I suppose.”

“Thorin _is_ good, and kind to the best o' his ability.”

“Master Glóin, if you could go fetch Sam for me? I need to double check the length of his cloak.”

* * *

 

Glóin knew he had crossed an invisible line with Bilbo when their next destination was announced as Rivendell. The children cheered, and Gimli winced. As the seconds stretched without enraged arguing, or even muttered insults, his son eyed him curiously.

Wordlessly, Glóin met Bilbo’s gaze and bowed slightly. The Hobbit’s eyes softened, but he did not change their course.

Thorin had done extensive damage among his kin, and they understood the pull of Gold Madness. None of them, either, had the same close relationship.

Their King had wounded a creature unused to anything more arduous than atrocious relatives, and now Bilbo was struggling to recover.

Glóin smiled softly. _A spine of mithril, indeed._

The courage Bilbo was exhibiting, simply travelling back to Erebor, was astounding _without_ taking into account how much he’d grown as a person since their first meeting.

* * *

 

“Lord Elrond! There is a small company made up of Hobbits and Dwarves en route. Many appear to be children.”

Elrond looked up, and next to him Gandalf did the same. They exchanged glances, the former exasperated and the latter self-satisfied.

“Bilbo Baggins, I’d bet my staff on it.”

“How you always seem to remained informed about these types of events, when your only contribution is harmful meddling, is beyond me.”

“Harmful? My dear friend, I am wounded.”

“Yet, Mithrandir, that was not a denial.”

Dipping his head in acknowledgment toward his guest, Elrond rose to prepare for the travelers and left a bemused Gandalf behind.

* * *

Far over the Misty Mountains, Thorin Oakenshield knelt beside his subjects to assist in transporting some fallen rock. The lanterns behind framed his silhouette, broad shouldered and powerful. Without a doubt, from behind he looked like a common dwarrow. 

Every dwarrow in Erebor sung the praises of their good, kind King that night.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your feedback and support. Truly, you're all amazing. Every time I got a notification indicating a review or subscription or kudo, it made me want to continue. This only exists thanks to each and every one of you. 
> 
> Until next time!


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